Hook Man
by Sakon76
Summary: [G1] The natives introduce the Autobots to that finest of human traditions... stories told around a campfire.  Written for the ProwlxJazz livejournal community's October challenge 'Folk Lore or Fairy Tale or Urban Legend' prompt.


**Hook Man**  
by K. Stonham  
released 27th October 2007

The bonfire snapped, flames leaping high into the air before twisting away into smoke and the memory of heat.

"Right, so this happened to a friend of a friend," Spike began the story, keeping an eye on the marshmallow he was toasting on a stick. "The guy was out for a drive with his girlfriend, and they ended up at the local overlook, just listening to music and making out."

"What kind of car were they driving?" Sunstreaker interrupted.

Spike rolled his eyes, well used to these sort of questions from his audience. "1956 Chevy Bel Air hardtop, candy apple red with white trim," he tossed out automatically. There were certain things one should expect from a race of alien car nuts, after all.

"Ooh, nice," Trailbreaker said appreciatively.

"With fuzzy dice?" Sideswipe asked.

"Yes, Sideswipe, with fuzzy dice," Spike replied, turning his stick.

"So what happened to them?" Prowl asked.

"Well, while they were making out, the music stopped and the announcer came on, giving one of those emergency bulletin broadcasts about a convicted murderer who'd just escaped from a local state insane asylum, warning everyone to be on the lookout for him, and not to approach, as he was considered armed and dangerous."

"A convicted criminal, armed and dangerous?" Jazz asked. "Come on, you gotta be kidding me, man."

"No, no," Chip agreed. "I heard about this too. The guy had lost his right hand, so he'd been fitted up with a hook to help him eat and stuff." He pulled his own marshmallow out of the fire and checked it, ignoring Spike's covert grin.

"You fit your criminals with weaponry?" Ironhide asked disbelievingly.

"Anyhow," Spike cut back in, "the guy pretty much ignored it and wanted to get back to making out. But the girl looked around and realized they were all alone at night, and the wind was picking up and branches were scraping across the car's roof, and, well... she kind of lost her nerve."

"She wanted to go home," Carly said, nodding, as she passed the box of graham crackers to Spike. "Small world," she told him, smiling. "She's a friend of a friend of mine."

"Really?" Spike asked with a grin, one he shared with Chip. "Small world indeed," he agreed.

"And?" Hound asked pointedly.

Carly shrugged and raised her s'more before her face. "He insisted, she protested, eventually he gave in and, all pissy, slammed the car into reverse and took her home." She took a bite, leaving the tale for the boys to finish.

"They'd pretty much made up by the time they got to her house, though," Chip told the Autobots, "and so he parked the car and went around to open the door for her, but before he could, he stopped and went white."

There was a moment's pregnant silence.

"Hanging from the handle of the passenger side door," Spike said softly, "was a bloody hook with torn leather straps to hold it to someone's arm."

The Autobots looked around at one another.

"Is this true?" Optimus eventually, softly, asked.

The three teenagers burst out laughing. "No," Spike managed to get out in gasps. "It's an urban legend."

"It might have a kernel of truth in it," Chip agreed, grinning as he adjusted his glasses, "but mainly they're stories that everyone knows that happened to a friend of a friend or something like that."

"There's no Hook Man," Carly agreed, face bright with amusement and flushed with heat from the fire. "At least, not as far as I know."

"You had us going," Bumblebee said appreciatively. "Good one."

"I'm going to have to remember that one," Sideswipe told Sunstreaker.

"Urban legends, huh?" Mirage asked. "Interesting."

Eventually the fire burned down and the three teenagers called it a night, going to bed. Various 'bots remained around the fire, talking in low tones, or went about their business or to their own berths to recharge. Jazz was one of the ones who remained, keeping an optic on the dying flames, a peculiar smile on his face.

Prowl raised an expressive optical ridge.

Wordlessly, Jazz switched his right hand to his grappling hook, with just a hint of a tiny grin crossing his expression.

"Jazz, no," Prowl told him flatly.

Jazz's grin persisted.

* * *

Author's Notes

_Written for the "Folk Lore / Fairy Tale / Urban Legend" October challenge prompt over at the ProwlxJazz livejournal community. I hope you enjoyed this!_


End file.
